


Nice / Different

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Formalwear, Friends to Lovers, POV Betty Cooper, POV Jughead Jones, Pining Jughead Jones, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 02:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Jughead's supposed to be writing the mystery of a lifetime, but instead finds his eye continuously drawn to the cutouts in Betty Cooper's dress, the way it spreads out at her knees as she orders a strawberry milkshake. Unusual, considering she always gets vanilla. He only intends to keep her company for a little while before the inevitable conclusion of Archie and Betty takes hold at the dance, but then sheleans. Jughead's suspenders dig into his shoulders, trying to warn him to stay back, that this isn't in the narrative. But he can't help it. He kisses her. He kisses Betty Cooper, and for just a minute he thinks that maybe thingscouldbe different.





	Nice / Different

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken some liberties with 1x1's canon because I just had this image of Betty coming into the diner for a milkshake to calm her nerves before the dance and then this thing happened. I hope you enjoy it ^-^

As always, Jughead glances up at the ding of the diner bell at Pop’s. It signals change. Entrances. Exits. He’s sitting in the corner booth with a cup of black coffee and dark theories about what happened to Jason Blossom. Anyone and everyone is a suspect, including his evasive best friend.

Okay, everyone _except_ the ponytailed sweetheart and girl next door Betty Cooper, who walks up to the counter in high heels and a pink dress that comes down to her knees. It makes his chest ache in a not-so-unfamiliar way, and he tries to look away before his eye is drawn to anything more concrete than a generally lovely shape of human being.

“Pop? Do you think I could get a strawberry milkshake?” Her voice is light, bright, and just a little nervous. Jughead bites his lip and tries to focus on the words swimming in front of him on the laptop screen. _Murder_. Not strawberries. She usually gets vanilla, anyway.

Pop, warm as ever, strides forward from the back fryer to get a better look at her. “You look mighty pretty tonight, Miss Cooper. You always do. Would you like to wait for your date?”

A breathy laugh. Cue Jughead’s internal groan. Who’s the lucky jerk tonight? Or is it another Kevin-Betty bestie adventure?

“No, that’s okay. I’m actually going to the dance with Archie.” _Of course_ , Jughead sighs. The time has finally come. “And Veronica.” And _what?_ Jughead’s curiosity’s officially piqued. “Kevin’s meeting us there. I just figured I’d get something so I’m not dancing on an empty stomach.”

Sounds like a busy, insufferable group. He tries to tear his attention away back to the manifesto. The sound of her nails on the counter draws his ear. It’s so light, a rhythm he’s heard a million times before. _Her._ _Waiting_. Usually for Archie. He can practically visualize the way her lips are pressed tight, smoothing her vanilla lip balm across a light pink smear of lipstick. His tongue darts up and swipes at the lingering sugar from his coffee. There isn’t any. He’s just craving…

Something sweet.

Tortured, _knowing_ it’s the wrong thing to do, Jughead glances up. God, she’s perfect. Betty’s a 50’s dream (although she’s pretty great in any era, really), her dress a light pink, and the way she smooths it lovingly makes him think she got it herself instead of being stuffed inside of it by Alice or Polly or even the new girl. Despite the dress’s demure neckline, it has cutouts at the waist, triangles that highlight her slim waist and the way the skirt puffs out to those shapely calves. She looks _nice_. Pop’s right. She _always_ looks nice.

Jughead’s tongue halfheartedly pokes a familiar ache in his molar. If only he wasn’t always _hungry_. If only he had dental coverage. If only…a lot of things.

Forearms daintily on the counter, Betty turns to glance down the vinyl booths where her attention lands on him. That familiar mouth curves up in a strawberry smile. He’s so used to being invisible that it stuns him for a second, electricity shooting through his spine and forcing a stiff chin nod of acknowledgement.

It probably looks stupid.

She ducks her head behind one bare shoulder, maybe sensing his hesitance at engaging with her. A shaky sigh works its way down to his knotted gut. He can’t be an invisible nobody and he can’t be an indifferent asshole with Betty Cooper.

“You look nice.”

She goes soft…soft _er_ , anyway, and leans on one foot. “Thanks, Jug. Are you going to the dance?” At his snort, she rolls her eyes and nods. “I guess I should’ve guessed.” She pushes herself off the counter, one hand lingering like she’s keeping track so she won’t drift too far. She shouldn’t, either. Betty Cooper shouldn’t be anywhere near murders, even if they are only on a page. Unimpeded, she tempts him with a bounce of her ponytail. “There’s usually food, though.”

“Forgive me for not finding standing by the snack table and stuffing my face with chips enticement enough to don my fanciest apparel and endure the judgment of my peers.”

“It _can_ be nerve-wracking,” she admits, twisting her skirt in contemplation. “What would you consider a worthy suspenders-on-the-shoulders occasion?” Her eyes glance along him like she’s picturing it, and Jughead straightens at the implication.

“Besides keeping my pants up? Nothing short of a feast. Burgers, tater tots, fries, and endless sodas and shakes.”

“I’ll put it in the notes for the next dance. Maybe we can steal your belt or get Pop’s to cater,” she smiles, brushing the counter top for crumbs with one hand like she can’t help but try and better places just with her presence.

“Please don’t. I can only imagine Reggie’s enthusiasm at the former.” Her eyes crinkle in good humor, lighting a little jig inside of him. “The latter, however, would be wasted on the party-planning committee for an event as hormone-fueled and trivial as a teenage dance.”

With a minor cringe, he realizes that she actually helps plan all these god-awful events. He’s gotten swept up in the banter of it all and of course, managed to insult her extracurriculars. Maybe next he can start on her recent foray into cheerleading, but the thought of her in that tiny uniform bouncing around isn’t doing anything to mask his anxiousness.

“Okay, don’t strain yourself,” she half-laughs, glancing at her shoes and skirt like she’s not sure if she should sit or stand. “I will give up on the elusive fanciness of Jughead Jones.”

Give up?

“For now,” she adds cheekily, wagging her formal wear in his general direction.

Maybe he _should_ make an effort. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Stunned, Betty’s blonde eyebrows arch in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Shoving past the potentially horrendous awkwardness, Jughead quirks an eyebrow at her. “The ponytail.”

Her fingers immediately go to it. “What…what about it?”

Sliding out of the booth, Jughead stands as if he just so _happens_ to need to go to the counter. Another coffee. A milkshake. Anything. “Just…maybe you’d like to try something different.”

Green eyes flicker with the pink neon of Pop’s, and he can practically watch the gears in Betty’s head shifting, settling into determination. Her thumb hovers to the stretched elastic. He waits with bated breath as she snaps the blonde tresses underneath free. Her nails rake the hair as it falls, shoving and tumbling it upwards to give it volume as if she didn’t already engulf the room. Nervously settling it with her palms, she glances at Jughead for his reaction. “So? How is it?”

The cascade of blonde falls around her cheeks in uneven waves. Alice Cooper would _hate_ it, and he has half a mind to tell her so, but the borderline apprehensive look on her face tells him to find another compliment.

“It’s different.”

A decidedly blank smile is his only return. _This_ is why he doesn’t initiate with girls. Even as a writer, he has no idea what to say about her hair other than it constantly accentuates what a gorgeous sun-child she really is. But he can’t say _that_ , so what is else is there that won’t end in horrified stares and whispers with Kevin?

It makes her look mature in a non-offensive way, that’s for sure. He’s used to seeing her in a high ponytail that makes him want to swirl it around like a helicopter or caress the light way it curls at the end, feel how soft it is. Right now it looks more like it _has_ been touched. A lot. And he likes that too, probably more so if he—

Jughead tugs on his beanie, hoping his cheeks aren’t as visibly warm as they feel. “Nice different. Wavy. Kinda like a better-conditioned, blonde version of mine, to be honest. Here, let me show you—“

Betty braces herself against the counter, sucking in a breath. “Are you going take off your hat?”

Apprehension shivers through him, his hand hovering somewhere in the air in front of him. Would she even… _want_ to see that? “ _No_.” _Not_ _yet_ is on the tip of his tongue, although he can’t imagine _why_. “I promised you suspenders and nothing but.” Betty blinks at the insinuation, eyes flickering to his hands in fascinated bemusement at what he’s going to do next. Jughead looks up at the ceiling, praying to whatever diner gods exist that he stops grabbing half-hidden sexual innuendos from Reggie Mantle’s discard pile as he tucks his shirt enough to get at the clips on his belt. The suspenders stretch and snap against his shoulders. Jughead can barely look at her face. It might help his nerves if she shoved a pie in his face or the whipped cream from her shake. At least then he can eat some sweetness instead of craving it like a lunatic.

Instead, Betty presses those lips together just the way he’d imagined before, teeth grazing some of the pink away. When it’s safe enough to look up, her eyes brighten, face overtaken with a beaming smile. “That looks really nice, Jug.”

“Seriously?” he balks, eyebrow quirked. She’s too _nice_. There’s no way that his janky suspenders haphazardly attached to his belt and snapped over a plain shirt are _nice_.

“Seriously,” she affirms, nodding with the certainty that only one Betty Cooper can. “I never realized how broad your shoulders are. It’s a shame you’re not going to the dance.”

Bracing his feet shoulder-width apart, he lets his thumbs stretch out the suspenders, hoping it fills the awkward silence opening between them. “Well, you’ll have to look nice enough for the both of us, I guess.”

The compliment must’ve taken too long, and really it’s a repeat, because she basically rolls her eyes and turns away to grab the strawberry shake Pop serves up. “Thanks.”

He feels like he should _say_ or _do_ something.

Instead, he helplessly twiddles his suspenders while Betty takes a long drag from her milkshake. “Uh, will your dress wrinkle if you sit?”

“Probably,” she admits, tugging it with her index finger. “But I think I’m willing to risk it.” Much to his pleasure, Betty gestures towards his booth. “May I?”

“Please. I didn’t get all dressed up just to eat by myself.” She giggles at him as she swings past his outstretched arm. “Pop! One order of fries please,” he calls, heart thrumming in his chest.

Pop’s not-so-hidden smile only fuels to warm Jughead’s ears. “I’ll make it large, for you and the little lady.” Torn between melting into the floor and _beaming_ at the insinuation that _she’s_ with _him_ , Jughead taps his hand on the counter and hides a lopsided smile. It’s not like _she’d_ think of it that way. They’ve known each other since they were kids. Pop flicks his chin in the direction of Jughead’s waist. “You look very nice, Jughead. Did Miss Cooper convince you to go to the dance?”

“Not you too,” he scowls, tugging his beanie down further. It feels surreal to see the back of Betty Cooper's head, long hair out of its normal ponytail, waiting for him in his booth, especially without one red-haired boy to accompany her. He slides in opposite and prepares to make light chit-chat.

Betty’s brilliant. Amazing. Lulls him into complacency to the point he doesn’t even notice when the fries come.

“You don’t want those to get cold.” She smiles, sucking gently on her straw, most likely so she doesn’t dislodge any more lipstick than she already has from biting on that smile of hers when she’s trying to reign in her excitement. Still, watching her pretty pink mouth purse like that up close _does_ something to him. Something stupidly hormonal that inflates his ego, even when he’s pretty sure those bright green eyes of hers are teasing him. It must be hormones that possess him to edge the fry container in her direction.

“Jughead Jones, are you sharing your fries with me?”

“What kind of a date would I be if I didn’t?”

Her eyes gleam with the implication, maybe a not-totally-unwelcome surprise that he can flirt. Well, with Betty. And probably Archie, although really it’s just banter. “Is this a date?”

“It’s as close to one as I’m going to get,” he laughs, noting the way her eyes fall back to the table, fingers slipping down to the cool edges of her glass.

Betty clears her throat. “Veronica and Kevin are trying to set me up with Archie.”

Well if _that_ isn’t enough to clear his appetite straight away. The delicious fluffy texture in his mouth turns to moldy gum. “Is that what _you_ want?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs, pushing her milkshake towards the center of the table in offering and reaching for a fry. Something in his gut bubbles. Maybe hope. However misplaced that is. She looks up at him, her face contorted in self-deprecation. “I mean, isn’t it silly?”

His voice comes out a little huskier than he intends it to. “Not if it’s what you want.”

And it’s…predictable. The jock who just got his varsity jacket. The newly minted cheerleader. Neighbors and besties since childhood.

Her eyebrow does one of those twitchy things like it’s expressing five thoughts at once. Sometimes he wishes he had a net so he could scoop them all up, sift through them later. Her milkshake sits there taunting him from the center of the table. What would it be like to wrap his lips around the same straw she’d used? To have his tongue touch something she’d sucked?

Burying his borderline insane thoughts, Jughead grabs her glass and tilts it directly against his lips like it’s a shot. The cool liquid washes over him, sliding down his throat. Betty watches him with a doe-eyed hesitance. Against what, he’s not sure, not even as he lets his tongue swipe his upper lip.

“Boys…when they like you, they _do_ something, right?”

“ _Right,_ ” he drones, wanting to bury his face in the milkshake just to hide. “Hypothetically speaking, moves are made.”

“But Archie hasn’t done anything.”

Sighing heavily, he grabs a fry and dips it in her shake, hoping it brings his appetite back and pushes off the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed.”

“But I’ve been _looking_. I mean, how would I not _notice_?” Her fingers go into her hair like she wants to pull her ponytail tighter, dropping in confusion when she realizes she let it out for him.

The ache in his gut spreads, suspenders noticeably tight on his shoulders. “Maybe he doesn’t want you to know.” Or Archie’s too distracted to like her yet, which is more likely.

Her face scrunches in disbelief. “Why not?”

“Maybe…you’ve been friends for so long, he figured you'll really look at each other that way.”

“Doesn’t everyone want to be looked at that way at some point?”

“Like…a romantic interest?” His eyebrows raise high into his beanie, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his voice trips a few octaves above normal.

“Well, I know _you_ don’t,” she amends, and he’s not sure whether or not to die right here in the booth. It’s a possibility, as he inhales a fry and it gets stuck in the back of his throat. Coughing, he pounds on his chest, and Betty leans over to put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” After making some kind of horrible sound, he’s able to swallow. Sure, he’s avoided Ethel’s moon-eyes for years but it’s not like ever meant to take himself off the table for _Betty_. Erm, _everyone_. It’s doubtful he has a high probability of engaging in a functional relationship, but still. He’s _capable_ of romance. Probably. Her expression furrows, contemplative. “But most people… _like_ the idea that someone could like them.”

“I…can imagine a universe in which being considered a romantic possibility would be pleasurable. With the right person.” She tilts her head like she’s absorbing some kind of new information, and by the way her pupils dilate he knows she wants to dig deeper, ask him if there _is_ a right person. To distract her, he follows the first thread that comes to mind. “But let’s say Archie suddenly professed he had feelings for me.” Surprised, she leans back in her booth. “Things might get awkward. If I didn’t reciprocate, which I wouldn’t,” he clarifies, “He might not…or I might not be able to stay friends with him. And maybe our friendship means a lot to him. To me. Risk versus reward.” He nudges the milkshake towards her.

Contemplative, she spins her straw. “But if you’re good enough friends, would it matter?” He shrugs, senses tingling. “Isn’t love supposed to be worth the risk?”

“I…I don’t know,” he admits, flushing heartily. “Putting these suspenders on in public is risk enough for me.”

_Coward._

Betty’s watching him with studied enthrallment, absently licking the straw in a way that makes him hot under the collar. “The teenage mind is fascinating.”

Laughing, he can’t help but agree. “Listen, um, I don’t know how it’s going to go with Archie tonight, but whether or not he reciprocates, you have a standing date with me. Here. Seven o’clock on Fridays, with or without the fancy dress.”

“Really?” she beams.

“Really.”

“Juggie!”

Excited, she leans over the table. Startled, he starts up to join her. It happens all at once and in slow motion. Her pretty, sparkling eyes fluttering closed, lips pursing, and he just fucking _does_ it. He twists his face to catch hers and kisses Betty Cooper. It’s not perfectly aligned at first. Their mouths are the slightest bit cold from a recent milkshake sip, but warm around the outsides. A smooth texture on her lips assists him slide more intimately towards synchronization, his hand finding her jaw to steady the transition. It’s clumsy and awkward with his ass hovering over the booth, but his fingers brush some of her silky hair back and it’s just as soft as he imagines. He can feel her inhale sharply in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. It lasts maybe all of two seconds before he pulls away just enough to let them breathe. When he’s feeling brave enough, heartbeat knocking in his ears, he opens his eyes.

She’s staring at him, eyes dancing with the unexpectedness of it all. But why…wasn’t she leaning…?

Her hips still rest on the table, palms face-down, chest nearly knocking over the milkshake in between them. He can’t fucking _breathe_ , frozen in his half-standing position.

“Jug…” her eyes flutter to his mouth again, and for a second she _sways_ , like _maybe_ she’s going to close the space between them again. But the bell dings like the round’s ended, Betty and Jughead sinking into their seats as a group of Vixens and Bulldogs enter in their dance-appropriate finery.

It feels infinitely harder to breathe, like kissing Betty Cooper has shifted the atmosphere.

Betty’s lips are still parsed partially open, eyes flickering nervously from his face to the S on his chest. Amidst the silence, she grabs a napkin and wrings it against her palms. This is _killing_ him, the non-reaction. He’s half-tempted to reopen his laptop and bury himself in work just so he has something to do other than hyperventilate.

“So…I left you speechless, right Betts?”

 _My stupid mouth,_ he internally bemoans. _Always doing…saying the wrong thing._

She squints at him, nonverbally asking _are you serious?_ It’s not like he has an answer. “Do you… _like_ me?”

Yep, it’s harder to breathe. He sucks in air in a way he’s pretty sure makes him sound like Darth Vader, unable to determine when it’ll be expelled. Because what is he supposed to say? The truth?

 _I’ve cared for you almost as long as I’ve felt anything_.

Maybe he should tumble his loner mystique into a blender and see what pops out after kissing Archie’s girl-next-door on the night she’s supposed to start something with the redhead. _Great idea, Jughead._

“… _yeah_.”

He drags the word reluctantly, and he can tell from her micro-expression that she’s not sure if he’s being sarcastic or not.

_Fuck._

“But, don’t you have a dance to get to?”

He squints his eyes against his own stupidity, wishing he could disappear.

Stunned, Betty shakes her head so subtly he’s not sure if she even knows she’s doing it. His veins must transform into Twizzlers and red vines, thick syrupy things that prevent him from thinking or moving while she snaps into her clutch purse and leaves a crisp cluster of bills on the table. He wants to say something else. _Anything_ else. Maybe about over-tipping?

But he’s coming up empty, even as she stands, waiting for...what? His brain to restart? After a moment, she exits so swiftly that her skirt makes a _whooshing_ noise.

“Betty,” he appeals, so quietly he’s not surprised she can’t hear him. He stares at the empty space in the booth across from him.

_What have you done?_

As the bell tingles with the announcement of her exit, Jughead buries his face in his hands.

 _What have you_ **_done_** _?_

“You okay?” Veronica asks quietly, arm linked with Betty’s while they wait for Archie to rejoin them after parking the car.

“Yeah,” she answers automatically, so used to not bothering to check her internal barometer that it doesn’t even register as a real question.

Veronica rubs her arm comfortingly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just nerves. But tonight is all about confessing to Archie and making him see what a great catch you are.”

She doesn’t… _feel_ like a great catch. She feels weird, like her hair is too puffy and her dress too…modest, despite her attempts to show some midriff. It’s like her throat is too small, and she has to force air in and out.

 _Jughead Jones kissed me_ , she wants to confess, but she isn’t even sure what else to say about it. Normally she’d tell Kevin, ask him to dissect it for her, but that elongated _yeah_ still echoes in her ears. Was it a pity kiss? Just…instinct? Or was it a confession of his own? Jughead doesn’t _like_ people. Furthermore, she isn’t even sure if she likes _him_. Well, _likes him_ likes him. Of course she _likes_ him.

But he’s…Jughead. Prickly and endearing.

He barely even says _hi_ to her in the hallways. At most, she’ll get a head nod and a _what’s up with you_ before he refocuses on riffing with Archie. And she knows they had _some_ kind of falling out, because he hasn’t joined them for lunch pretty much since school restarted. She's missed him. His small smirks, eye rolls, and slightly bizarre sense of humor. _Something's_ going on, she blushes, she's just not sure what it is.

Maybe this is some kind of weird revenge. Kissing the girl Archie’s going to the dance with.

But Jughead’s not that vindictive, is he?

She remembers the heated arguments he’d have with Archie, slamming doors, calling him stupid, quickly-ended fist fights with jocks where he’d have a streak of blood on his cheek for daring to speak out. But he never…instigated anything beyond his words and maybe a shoving match.

Archie, reluctantly handsome, rejoins the girls looking like he’d still rather be at home moping about his future. Maybe they all could use a nice distraction.

Veronica takes the lead, letting go of Betty. “Shall we, Archie? Aren’t you the lucky one, getting to enter with two beautiful girls on your arm? Doesn’t Betty look great?”

Wanting to melt into the sidewalk, Betty notes the way Archie’s eyes flicker casually over the dress she’d been so excited to put on. “Yeah. You look nice. You both do. Let’s go.”

This whole night has a sinking feel to it, so even when her arm links with Archie it’s hard to focus on the liquid warmth pooling in her stomach because it drains just as fast as touching him incites it.

“I’m going to get a…refreshment. Have fun!” Veronica winks not-too-subtly, disappearing into the crowd.

Archie seems… _annoyed_. To be here. To be blatantly paraded as arm candy for two River Vixens. “Do you want to dance?” Betty asks hopefully. He likes music. Maybe that’ll improve his mood.

“Sure.”

Archie’s hand automatically guides her lower back, but it’s in that weird realm between sensual and casual so it doesn’t give her any more insight into what this should be. She should’ve put her clutch down, because it’s clunky to dance with, but she tries to loosen up and talk to him, ask about football or just dance with him. At first Archie’s looking everywhere but her, and it makes her throat close and want to cry. When she starts asking him about his music, his face brightens and he finally _looks_ at her like she’s a person again. The song shifts to something slow, couples coming together. Archie glances around, automatically shifting to put his hands around her waist. But his attention's gone again almost as soon as it alights on her.

“Archie,” she tries, catching his attention for a nanosecond.

“Veronica’s been gone for a while, hasn’t she?”

Clearing her throat, heart pounding, she glances over his shoulder where Veronica’s dancing with Kevin, both of them mouthing _DO IT_ so violently they might as well be asking her to mount him on the dance floor.

“She’s dancing with Kevin.” Archie nods, looking around the room again. Betty clears her throat. “Archie?” His head snaps back to attention. How many times is she going to have to say his name just to get him to look at her? This…this is a mistake. But she has to get it over with, just so she _knows_ and stops _worrying_ and being _prodded_ and bruised to death by her friends. “Now that you’re on varsity…” He beams at her. “And I’m a cheerleader.” He nods, gaze already flickering from her to something over her shoulder. “I had this fantasy…” Confused, he stares with a little more interest. Hope or something akin to anxiety flutters in her chest. _This is it_... “Of us.” His expression remains unchanged, curiously puzzled. “As a power couple. Or just…a couple, actually.”

His eyebrows raise, chin receding back into his neck like she’s just told him she’s getting a pixie hair cut. “Betty…”

“Is that so crazy?” she asks desperately, arms tightening around his neck.

He looks anywhere but her, mouth open like he’s not sure what to say. It’s not a _no,_ but it’s not a _yes_ either. Whatever it is, it hurts. When the song ends, she untangles herself and fights the prickle of something behind her eyes.

_No. I am not going to cry. It's fine. Archie...doesn't see us that way. It's like Jughead said. We've been looking at each other for so long that he can't see it._

It’s just…frustrating. People clap for the Pussycats, but she can feel Veronica and Kevin leering over at her. Even Cheryl and her cronies have one eyebrow quirked in interest. This is so public. So _stupid_.

Betty smiles and backs off the dance floor. “Don’t worry about it,” she mumbles, wondering if _this_ boy will follow her. If anyone will follow her. Ever. Probably not. Not even in this peachy pink dress with her hair down. For some reason she’s disappointed that Jughead had made her feel like something could be _different_. It's not like this is his fault. It's not like his words and random kiss have changed the way Archie feels about her.

No one else is in the back hallway by the old newspaper office, just as she expected. She just needs some air. Leaning her head back, she tries to will the tears back in her eyes. It’s surprising that neither Kevin nor Veronica have followed her, forcing her to spill, but she’s sort of _relieved_ for the moment to herself. The skirt of her dress is fun to swish. It’s easier to slow dance with herself in the low blue lighting of the abandoned hallway than with Archie or her friends while she tries to regain her rhythm.

It’s almost the end of the song by the time Archie reappears in the hallway. She pauses, aware of the way he’s approaching her like she’s a deer about to spook.

“You okay?” he asks, and she gets the horrible feeling that he didn’t even mean to follow her on his own, that their friends convinced him to come after her. Is that what their whole relationship has been delegated to?

“Do you love me, Archie?” Blinking, he looks a little taken aback. At least out here there’s nothing else for him to look at, so he’s _forced_ to see her. “Or even…like me?”

“Of course I love you, Betty,” he frowns, moving towards her. The way he says it doesn’t lift the heavy disappointment sitting on her shoulders. “But…” he bites his lip, glancing back at the dance. “I can’t give you the answer you want.”

Nodding, she glances away in the attempt to keep wretched, if not expected, tears at bay. Even Archie looks pained, pleading in that puppy-dog way he has about him.

“You’re just…you’re so perfect. I’m not good enough for you. I’ll never be good enough for you.”

 _That_ hurts, shifting her sorrow into something infinitely more burning. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re just…you’re _you_. I’m not…I could never…do that to you.”

Squinting, she glares at him, moving forward in the kitten heels she painstakingly was willing to suffer through for the night. “Do _what_ to me? Love me? Date me? Focus on me for an entire conversation without looking at another girl?” She’s making him uncomfortable, unraveling the _perfect_ image of the girl next door. “I’m not five years old anymore, Archie! We’ve grown up! Maybe if you thought of somebody other than yourself for five minutes, you would’ve noticed that.”

“Betty,” he starts, eyes wide in shock, hand reaching out for her. But for what? For an illusion, for a friend?

“I just…I can’t be with you right now,” she says decidedly, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, Archie. For lashing out at you. Your feelings are...valid, because they're yours. But I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. I need some time.”

“Betty…”

Neither of them say anything, staring hard at the space between them. Maybe Archie’s doing it wistfully, but Betty’s so angry she’s surprised her breath isn’t coming out in puffs of smoke. Angry at herself. Angry at this town for pushing her to be with him. Angry at Archie for being… _clueless_. Angry at Jughead for making her feel brave and ignorant and a lot of other things.

Looking apologetic, Archie meanders towards her. “You know our friends aren’t gonna let me go back in there without you.”

She instinctively folds into herself, crossing her arms and looking away. “Tell them I went to check my purse.”

“And I…?”

It’s sort of ironic that he can’t think of an excuse to be apart from her _now_. “You...did whatever you wanted to. Checking a purse isn’t a two-person job. It’s fine. I just need a second to catch my breath. Please, enjoy the dance Archie. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Looking torn, Archie finally slides on his back heel back through the doors.

After another half-song spent alone, the trembling finally recedes from her bones.

Veronica and Kevin practically smother her the second she joins them, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. Archie looks a little shame-faced, forced into a conversation with Cheryl Blossom and her cronies, but even with them he keeps glancing around the room like he wishes it was someone else.

Trev Brown bashfully asks her to dance, and she doesn’t want to be mean, but she doesn’t want to be very nice either, so she accepts but readjusts his hands when his thumbs accidentally touch her midriff. They only make eye contact when absolutely necessary, mostly on accident when he shuffles into her feet.

“You look nice, Betty,” he blushes. “You always look nice, but tonight you look…different.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, feeling like it’s all cheek muscles clenching and not an ounce of feeling.

She walks home alone despite Veronica and Archie’s protests about heels and _you never know what’s out there._ She doesn’t. And that’s kind of the point.

Kevin’s with Moose.

Veronica and Archie are at some afterparty.

Cheryl’s probably cackling like a fire in the chaos of the night, somehow even more vindictive since Jason’s disappearance.

And Jughead…she takes a deep breath, approaching the stairs that lead up to her landing.

Jughead’s probably still at a booth in Pop’s, drinking coffee and writing so he doesn’t have to interact with anyone.

She understands that feeling wholeheartedly right now.

When she gets home, her mother looks up, surprised and alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she mutters, sliding her feet out of the pinching shoes. “I’m just tired.”

“What did that Andrews boy do? Or Hermione’s girl? I told you…” The words drift into a swirling gloat familiar enough that Betty doesn’t even hear the particulars anymore, retreating to her room. She stares at herself in the mirror, wavy hair around her ears, wondering who she is. If she’s different, sadder now. Stronger.

When Archie comes by, his necktie undone and hair disheveled, she wants to throw something at him. The words she’s left behind in her diary seem to have taken every ounce of heart she has left to give tonight. Swallowing something sticky in her throat, she listens to him beg for their friendship. Their innocence. But in the night, something draws her gaze. The shadow of Jughead Jones waits in the shadows of the Andrews’ porch, and her heart thumps painfully, wondering what he thinks of her. Of this.

Everything’s so different than it was in the diner.

Why can’t she be funny with Archie? Sly? Teasing? Smart?

Is it because she’s afraid he won’t like her that way?

Or is it because she doesn’t _fit_ with him that way? Any way?

Archie pleads with her again, and although he’s earnest, and she wants them to be friends, she doesn’t see the point in pretending everything’s okay all the time, and goes back inside.

A large bouquet of flowers waits for her at the front office. It’s bright and brilliant and…yellow. Betty blinks at it, breath catching in her throat. It’s the first time someone’s gotten her flowers, and despite Kevin’s excitement, she knows what that color means.

_Friendship._

Veronica appears in the doorway, a hopeful sort of smile on her face. It seems like a wasted effort to resist her platonic courtship, especially when Betty’s trying to untangle other, more complex feelings, like being delusional enough to think that maybe a boy in a beanie had gotten her flowers. Had _hoped…_ they’d be the same pink as their milkshake.

Jughead has to fight the urge to bolt when he spots the soft pastels of Betty Cooper in the hall. Her eyes are fixed on something in the distance, pushing through some invisible block in her mind. Kevin helps her put a giant yellow bouquet in her locker, carefully cradling the edges until it’s folded into itself enough to close the door.

There’s no way Archie actually manned up and got flowers, did he?

Feeling more curious and anxious than embarrassed, he lingers closer.

 _Veronica_ got them. As an apology for the forced disaster of last night. _Smooth_.

Archie’s an idiot. But so is Jughead, so it’s not like he can say anything. Nor can he afford flowers, unless he wants to sacrifice a few meals this week.

Betty studies him in science class like she’s forgotten he can _see_ her. He’s used to being covert in his observations. This is weird. _Different_. Before he can redden enough to spontaneously combust, Kevin drags her attention back to something about Moose. Since Kevin hasn’t given him any notable looks, it’s safe to assume she hasn’t told him about the kiss. His body tenses and rolls, unsure if that’s a good thing.

He cracks his neck repeatedly but the tension doesn’t dissipate.

She finally caves, if only inadvertently. “What do you think of Jughead Jones?”

“Besides _brooding_ , in a slightly pretentious emo way? I don’t,” Kevin shrugs, taking a deep sip of coffee. “Why do you ask?” She purses her lips, which apparently is enough to trigger Kevin into a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, what happened?! Did that flannel dreamboat finally profess his love for you?”

“What?!”

His free hand clamps onto her shoulder, like she’ll have to pry his cold dead fingers off unless he gets the _scoop_.

“I don’t mean normal love, Betty. I mean _obsession_. He’s been watching you like a stalker for years. I imagine he has a Betty doll and he pretends it’s his girlfriend and writes you sonnets about how he’ll bury you in flannel—“

“Kevin!” she snaps, which silences him but does nothing to damper his eagerness. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I? You were interested in Archie, whom, by the way, is still on my straight-boys-who-suck list.”

Maybe that’s what Jughead thought too, maybe that’s why he never said anything. But still. “ _Yeeeeeah_. _Don’t you have a dance to get to?”_

Annoyed, she slams her locker shut. “I don’t…understand them.”

“Me neither,” he shrugs wistfully. “But they are nice to look at.” Both of them turn, and although Kevin’s generally glancing around, Betty finds her gaze fixed on the back of a hunched-shouldered headphone-clad Jughead Jones. If _he’d_ put his hands on the cutouts of her dress, she can’t imagine she’d reposition him like she had with Trev. She’s probably be too excited about the fact that he’d managed to slow-dance with her, even if it was awkward. And if he’d _smiled_ …well…her stomach does a little twist at the thought.

Seeming to remember himself, Kevin eagerly attends to their conversation. “So, what happened? Please tell me he cut off a lock of your hair.”

Clearing his throat, Jughead edges towards Betty’s locker. She’s hovering there, green eyes peering out just beyond the metal shield. His clothes feel soggy and drag at him even though he’s as dry as can be. Maybe he _should_ use his suspenders as more than a statement piece.

“Hey.”

A sweeping, curious glance. Better than nothing, he supposes.

“So…how was the dance?”

It’s possibly the stupidest thing he could ask, and he does it with an ounce of _sarcasm_ , of all things. Maybe just to use it as a shield of his own.

Her brow furrows, and he detects a clipped edge to her normally drilled-in politeness. “Telling, thanks. And somehow…not so different than what I expected.” The locker door rattles like a cage.

Shifting, he glances down the hall where a familiar mop of red hair bobs above a varsity jacket. Last night he'd gone over...not knowing what to expect. Archie and Betty making moon-eyes? An awkward encounter? But his friend was distraught and a little disheveled and Betty had disappeared into her house like she wanted to sleep for three days and avoid the human race. Even though Archie hadn’t given specifics, Jughead knows that _something_ happened at the dance. Something that makes Archie crinkle his brow in consternation and sigh with regret. They definitely didn’t kiss, because Jughead doesn’t think _anyone_ could regret that. Not with Betty, at least. For all his humiliation, Jughead doesn’t _quite_ lament his lapse in rational thought when he’d kissed her in the diner. Besides, Betty seems more _annoyed_ than heartbroken about whatever it is.

“I’m sorry? But if it’s any consolation, I had a great time at Pop’s,” he smiles, hoping it’s convincing enough to earn one of hers.

Eyes narrowed shrewdly, she clutches her bag a little tighter. “ _Yeah_. The milkshakes were probably more worthy of fancy dress than the cheap punch at the gym.”

Shit. She probably thinks he’s just talking about food. “I had a nice time with _you_ , I mean.” Momentarily suppressing the wave of nausea that overwhelms him at her surprise, he blurts, “I know you had plans with Archie and your friends or whatever…but I was hoping you had a good time too.”

“I _did_ ,” she starts warily, “Until—“ His heart thwacks painfully. He sucks air into his lungs in the hope it’ll lessen the sting. “You started being cryptic and weird.”

Cryptic? Weird? Nothing about the kiss?

Unsure what to do with that, he shuffles into himself. “That’s sort of my m.o.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Jughead.” Dangerously direct, she leans close to him, the atmosphere shrinking in around them. “You kissed me.” An audible gulp pops from his throat. Can people _hear_ her right now?

“So was that more _cryptic_ or _weird_ for you?”

Based on the narrow slits of her eyes, he better tread carefully.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m willing to take constructive criticism. Obviously my lack of experience and our previous…” he gestures at the air between them, trying not to cough at the layer of bullshit coating his throat. “Relationship may make things complicated, but I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

“What?” she inhales, holding her breath as something shiny dances behind her eyes. Unsure if it’s glass or steel, just seeing that sharp iridescent green, Jughead hurries into an explanation.

“I don’t know. You _leaned_ , and I thought…” he demonstrates, immediately reminded of a stupid scene in _While You Were Sleeping,_ a romantic comedy he’d been coerced into watching with Betty last year while she plied him with popcorn. Of course the girl pined over some loser and fell for his nice brother instead. Happily-ever-after. Quirky, romantic bullshit.

She winds her body up like she’s preparing to enter a heated debate, his blood pressure spiking in anticipation. “So you just _happened_ to sit up and catch me on the mouth?”

“No,” he explains carefully, gaze inevitably drawn back to her demanding face. “It’s more like, you _leaned_ , and I _wanted_ to, so I did. I thought…you wanted it too.”

His palm snags the back of his beanie for luck as he searches for some kind of confirmation one way or another.

She’s thinking about it, considering carefully.

That’s intriguing, at least, if not promising.

“So…you _did_ want to.”

“ _Yeah_.” The word strikes a chord with her since their last encounter, a sharp inhale and flared nostrils, so he hurries on in the hopes she goes back to her regular countenance. “A more accurate description would be I did not _plan_ on kissing you. Especially not on the same night you were planning to confess to my best friend.”

Her eyes swish to his lips before settling on his eyes, like maybe she can read him better that way. “You never thought about it before?”

He drags his answer. How many times had he fantasized about sucking the skin along her long elegant neck? About snapping her hair out of that elastic and spreading it with his hands? “Abstractly, yes. But I never thought I’d be able to do it.” That sparks her surprise. She’s frustratingly hard to read right now. A confusing haze of distrust seems to hover over her, but not disgust. All of this is nerve-wrackingly different than any scenario he could’ve crafted in his head.

“So…the suspenders…that was a move, right?” she demands, eyes bright and hard.

His entire body slants, dragging him to the ground in admission of his lameness. “Yes.”

“How many other… _moves_ have I missed?” she sputters, looking lost. At first he’s not sure if she means of men in general or him specifically until her pained doe-eyes train on him, waiting for an answer.

“It’s not like I was advertising it. I mean, I knew you liked Archie. I wasn’t naive enough to think if I hung around enough you’d suddenly look up and see me as…” he trails off, tongue feeling thick and sluggish as he realizes that’s _exactly_ what she did for Archie. He’s insulting her. Fantastic.

Her expression is impossibly soft. “As what, Jug?”

Exhaling through his nose, he tries not to melt into a puddle of mush. “ _Desirable_ ,” he accentuates, feeling obnoxiously like he’s plopped himself in a teen movie. There’s only so much sardonic humor he can defend himself with amidst the steel gaze of Betty Cooper. “I realize I may have royally screwed our friendship. So, if that’s the case, I apologize. I’m mostly sorry about my lack of finesse in the act itself.” He waits a beat, gaze trailing from her pale flats to her face. Maybe she knows. Understands. That he could’ve picked a better time, a better place. Ten years ago. Three months from now. “Are you…sorry about it?” he asks, stiff with apprehension.

Biting her lip, she studies him, like she’s reluctant to answer before she’s _sure_. Always a planner. The spontaneous kiss was not in the plans for either for them.

“Well,” he coughs, unable to bear the uncertainty. His thumbs loop into his bag, drawing it forward in the carrier equivalent of a shrug. “You have a standing invitation to my booth at Pop’s if you change your mind. Let me know if I’m… _shunned_ or whatever, and I’ll see you in class.”

Imaginary wind whips at his sides, making it feel like the atmosphere is thick and steamy as he turns away from her. The discs next to his ears feel big and awkward in his hands as he hurries to drown out the anxiety in his chest. _This_ is why he doesn’t talk to people. He just weirds them out, even friends he’s known and liked forever like Betty Cooper.

“Jug.” Her voice pulls him back with an invisible yank on his insides.

 _Don’t hope for anything_ , he warns himself, turning to her beck and call.

Somehow fluid, Betty stares him down with a consternated expression. “It was different.”

_Uh…_

“Nice.” A flicker of a smirk indicates she means it. Still, she’s teasing him with the words he’d thrown around the diner. What a rude, fantastic thing to do to an already surly teenage boy.

Not knowing where to go from here, Jughead clears his throat. “Nice.” He lets the word roll around in his brain, dancing a little jig of mediocrity. Firming his lips in an appreciative, _I’ll take it,_ Jughead turns and walks the rest of the way to class wondering if his limbs have turned to jelly and if Betty Cooper just said that kissing him was _nice_.

He feels like hurling and smiling, curled up under the bleachers with something horrendously sappy playing on his headphones. But this is _not_ a teen movie. So he will go to class. He will ignore the teacher. He will sludge through his day until 7 o’clock at Pop’s, when at the very least he’ll have a very nice milkshake. And maybe he won’t be alone, and maybe he won’t hate it.

At the bell, Jughead jolts upright so hard that he’s surprised his spine can _move_ that way. Betty looks around, almost immediately finding him amidst the booths. It’s entirely possible she hears the hiss of air he sucks in. At least it’s an improvement from Darth Vader gasps.

“This seat taken?” she asks, not _entirely_ sweet about it.

“Whatever you want,” he says quickly, like it’s a stick-up instead of the girl he kissed approaching him… _alone_. At least they’re on slightly more equal footing apparel-wise, even if her blouse may be a bit smarter than his shirt. The ponytail is back in action, swinging splendidly before her bright green eyes can pin him into the booth.

She drums her fingers on the table, ignoring the menu to her side. Afraid to move, to say anything, Jughead considers just staying still until she rips his head off and tosses it to the jocks to use for the next football game. Or, less likely, she swarms the table and ravages him where he sits. But at least she’s _talking_ to him, which is more than he can say for their mutual friend.

Seemingly taking pity, she relaxes her shoulders and pretends to look at a menu before breaking the uneasy silence. “For the record, I was going for your _cheek._ ” Acidic heat flares through his veins, melting him into jelly as she bites her lower lip. “But what happened was surprisingly better. It _was_ nice...in way I never really expected.”

He stares, waiting for the give that she’s mocking him.

Her green eyes flick up, splashing him with the realization that she’s being serious.

Maybe he should launch across the table and risk smearing ketchup across the front of his shirt just for another taste. It’d be worth it if she doesn’t shove him back, but it’s not really his style. She said it was _nice_. That’s…something. Before he can decide his next move, the sensation of her foot sliding flush against his under the table clenches his attention away from everything else. Batting her eyelashes, Betty’s face is a mask of innocence as she asks about the novel he’s working on. Feeling like his toes are just about as sensitive as his dick, he starts talking. They don’t stop for another hour and a half, during which they polish off two burgers, a large order of fries, and coffee. Her hand brushes lingeringly over his on the way to steal a fry, and he nearly short-circuits mid-sentence. The next time, he’s the one that initiates it, letting his hand lay on top of hers, fascinated as her fingers absently play into his while her other hand plucks absently at french fries like she's fidgeting and doesn't know what else to do. Their fingers get greasy and salty and neither of them seem to mind. It actually feels nice, warm, and _right_. At the end of the night, she sucks her fingers clean of salt (is she tasting him too, he wonders?), gives him a little smile, offering to walk him home.

“Isn’t that my line?” It’s a joke, but he scrambles in minor panic nonetheless. He’s not prepared to walk Betty to the trailer and its toxic fumes nor to the drive-in to reveal _everything_ because hopefully the whole "being wild about her" thing is enough for now. “As the guy, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to walk _you_ home.”

“That’s incredibly un-feminist of you, Jug.”

“I am nothing if not traditional.”

That eyebrow of hers communicates a few choice things, sending a buzz down to his gut that says she won’t hassle him about it tonight.

The door bell tings for good luck as he holds it open, Betty meandering in the direction of her house. Before he can decide whether or not to hold her hand, her arm loops around his. It’s not exactly what he wants, but he’ll take it. They talk all the way home, and when he gets to her house he shifts from foot to foot, wondering what he’s supposed to do now. What he _wants_ to do is hold her hand. To brush imaginary loose hairs behind her ears and kiss her soundly.

He clears his throat, trying to make sure the Coopers aren’t glaring out the windows. “So…do you wanna walk to school together tomorrow?” he asks, innards already radiating, wondering if tonight she’s changed her mind and the arm-loop means she just wants to be friends.

She beams just a little, eyes narrowing on him. “I’d like that. Maybe, if you can tear yourself away from your laptop, you could join us for lunch?”

Groaning, he sways to face her. “Is this about Archie? Like, I know he’s stupid, but I don’t wanna rub his nose in anything. I’m not a revenge puppet, Betty.”

“No. You’re Jughead.”

“And you’re Betty,” he repeats dumbly, wondering where this is going.

“You’re not…some guy to bait Archie with. You’re one of my closest friends.” _Oh_. She must sense the impending sag of his body. “Well, more than friends now.”

“Am I your _best_ friend?” He rolls his eyes, trying not to sound bitter nor hopeful.

“Yeah.” But she says it softly, her fingers teasing into his palm. Trying not to snatch onto it like a bear trap, he lets their fingers weave together naturally. It’s...a miracle. _So_ nice. A swift swoosh of breath steadies his ravaging heart. Betty’s still biting her lip, eyeing him shyly like she’s still trying to figure out if he likes her. As if she can’t feel his pulse racing in her palms.

“So...is Archie your best friend too?”

“You know what I’m saying…”

Fear thick as molasses coats his throat, her eyelashes delicately protecting her face from scrutiny other than _wow she’s beautiful_. But he needs more. “I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me, Betts. This is a complicated situation.”

At his scrunched, dubious nose wriggle, she smiles. “The kiss was a pleasant surprise. And unlike some people, that’s not... _normal_ for me. Just...enjoying kissing. I’d want to do it with someone I like.” Her other hand scratches down her leg and he has the sudden urge to bring it to his lips.

“So you’re saying…”

 _Say you want to kiss me again, say you want me to kiss you right now_ , his heart pleads. _Say that you like-like me._

“This is not _about_ _Archie_. I was hoping _we_ could hang out more. I've missed you. And reconnecting...felt _good_." That's an understatement from where he's sitting, but he's not going to push his luck. He has to squeeze her hand to avoid kissing her when she's still speaking. "I mean, I want to hang out with you _alone_ , but also with people who happen to be close to us.”

“You mean _you,_ ” he corrects mildly, already frowning at the thought of enduring lunch with Kevin Keller and the new girl who wears fancy perfume that makes him want to cough. “So let’s say we form a lunch posse. Is Archie included?”

Wrinkling her mouth, she accedes, “I guess _eventually_ he’ll work his way back in.”

“Like, tomorrow?” he teases, knowing how quickly she tends to forgive and forget. Archie has undoubtedly taken advantage of that particular character trait on numerous occasions.

“Probably. So. Do you want to?”

“This feels like a trick question.”

“I know you want to eat lunch at school, the question is if you want to do it with me.”

A little dumbstruck, he stares at her lips. Eating with Betty Cooper. He could get used to that. Catching his gaze, her whole face seems to warm. Is she _blushing_?

“Obviously. I take payment in bags of chips and-”

“Goodnight Juggle.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek, skipping off before he can mess it up or reciprocate. The spot she’d blessed glows warm the entire walk back to the Twilight. The whole sensation makes him wonder if it _is_ in fact better than their first kiss, or if all kisses are going to be like this with her. Because indubitably, there are going to be more. And they’re going to be more than _nice_ , he’s going to make sure of it.

  


The Friday at Pop’s dates quickly become breakfast dates, after-school dates, investigative dates, and they’re slowly moving into just general…dates. So far he’s seemed a little jumpy at the prospect of springing kisses on her without express permission, his hands happy to wander into her palms or along her knee. Sometimes after she kisses his cheek, instead of the little blushing smile she’s quietly come to love, his eyes get hyper-focused, flickering to her lips like he’s waiting for a sign. A subtle nod’s all that’s needed before his hands are on either side of her face, pulling her back to him in an insistent kiss. They’re taking it slow, making _sure_ she’s over…whatever she had for Archie. And she is. She _definitely_ is. In fact she’s so over it that she kind of wants to be _under_ Jughead. Or on top. She’s not picky and frankly doesn’t know everything she likes yet. In an effort to sort of speed things up she’s sitting on the same side of the booth as him.

“I happen to _like_ semicolons,” he insists.

“Just use a period and start a new sentence! A semicolon is pretentious.”

“So am I, but they haven’t abolished me yet.” His smirk is so smug and _Jughead_ that she loses herself in it, the curve of his lips tempting very inappropriate thoughts in the middle of a diner.

There’s a glimpse of teeth, a chuckle rippling through him like he _knows_ that’s what she’s thinking about and it absolutely _tickles_ him. Affronted, she bundles her arms around her chest. It’s not her fault. He has lots of experience exercising patience in not pawing her the second she sidles up to him (although he _does_ find any excuse to touch her nowadays).

Things are different. _Good_ different lately, in what seems like a short amount of time. Despite the heaviness lingering in the air with unsolved mysteries, they make each other laugh, smile, and _relax._ It’s even spreading to their other friends. Jughead still refuses to acknowledge most of them as _his_ friends for one reason or another. The only mutual he considers an actual acquaintance is Archie, and that’s only because they’ve been friends since they were old enough to talk. Thankfully Archie seems to have hesitantly slipped into ignoring the whole “power couple” fantasy monologue she’d been strong-armed into, which helps their friendship slide into normal-ish territory.

Betty considers Jughead beside her, the way his suspenders dangle against her thigh. With a testing tug, she smiles at him.

“May I help you?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, I think so. I want to try something.”

“What is it? Because I had a very particular plan for dessert—“

“I’m curious about something we haven’t tried yet.”

“Anything specific?”

“I’d rather keep it a surprise.”

Dubious, Jughead shifts like she’s attempting to entice him with a bag of pretzels.

“Come on, Juggie,” she teases, tugging his suspenders a little more playfully. “It might even be worth dressing up for.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Jughead snaps his laptop shut.

He rambles most of the walk to her house, thumb gently rubbing her hand where it twines with his. She feels almost giddy, like there should be flowers she can pad at her fingertips or puddles to skip through. Instead she’s given the greater gift of an empty home and a text from her mom that her parents won’t be home for another two hours.

“So this isn’t about dessert?” Jughead half-teases, sending a longing glance at the kitchen.

She snags his hand in hers, leading him up the stairs. “Come on, I _know_ you can think of other things besides food.”

“True. It goes _you_ , food, pop culture, and then murder.”

"That’s impressive." She tries to suppress her pleasure. “In that order?”

But he knows how much she likes his attention, his gray-blue eyes sparkling at her as he tugs her a little closer. “Of course.” She slides into his arms, the soft dark gray of his jacket a comforting sheathe from the mirrors speckled throughout her room. His kiss is appreciative, tender. It’s nice, _really_ nice. But she wants more. Opening her mouth, she sucks a little harder at his lips. It seems to work, his mouth opening too, pulling heat in her stomach like a churning blender on high. With a gasp, he breaks away, dazed from their lip-lock.

“So. You drag me into your room and kiss me like _that_ when your parents aren’t home…I might get the wrong idea, here, Betts.”

Biting the tenderness of her bottom lip, she brings her fingers to his cheek. “What idea is that, Juggie?”

“That my kisses have become more than _nice_. I’d dare to say you find me _desirable._ ” Eyes flashing, he studies her for a response. There’s still a little hesitance in him. It’s like he keeps expecting her to push him away, no matter how many times she reaches for his hand.

Snagging either side of his collar, Betty hauls his lips against hers. A muffled _oomph_ and they’re tumbling towards the bed. Even with his hands sliding across her back, she still feels like this isn’t enough. Squirming, shoving, kissing him in between, she manages to get his outer layers off before he finally pulls back, flushed and panting.

“Jesus, Betty, I had no idea you were in such a rush for me. You sure you were just going for my cheek that night?”

His sassiness is no match for her hormones right now. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to slow down?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Hell no, I just want to catch up.”

He tackles her back onto the bed, muffled “Is this okay?”s muttered between enthusiastic “yes”es and excited breaths. She didn’t expect making out (hooking up?) to be so _invigorating_. No wonder Kevin always made jokes about runner’s highs after he meets a new prospect on his adventures.

“Jughead?”

“Mmyeah?” he asks, lips still chasing hers.

“I just...I wanted to let you know that this...that me and you has been the best surprise of my life.”

His grin curls like the letter _u_ , soft and round like either end is going to take off and fly.

“I’d have to say the same there, Betts.” Gently, he lifts her chin with a pointer finger until they’re steadily and dreamily at the same eye-level. The air feels alive, and she wonders how she never saw this before. “If I had any idea all it took was some properly-attired suspenders to win your heart, I would’ve worn them every day.”

“You…” Nose wrinkling in a laugh, she moves forward to kiss him again. “I’m going to make you wear those now.”

“Oh, Betty, can’t we do it later? _After_?” he teases suggestively, waggling his eyebrows and draping across the bed dramatically.

“No.”

Scrambling off the bed, she turns on some soft music and snatches the dress from her closet before heading into the bathroom. He _is_ her boyfriend now, right? So maybe...without closing the door all the way, Betty climbs out of her clothes and into the dress. From his lack of complaining, she’s guessing he’s watching, which is weirdly _invigorating_ , to hold his attention this way. Still too nerve-wracked to look, she takes out her elastic, fluffing the blonde hairs that tumble in two distinct waves. No point in putting on lip gloss if…well, if they’re going to do what they just did.

She opens the door to find Jughead laying on his stomach, watching with rapt fascination as she makes her entrance.

“Could you help zip me up please, Juggie?”

“When you ask so _nicely_ , of course...and _up_ is the direction you want?” he clarifies, the lowness of his voice _different_ from anything she’s ever heard. It’s sexy, to be wanted like this. And she wants him too, in case tackling him to the bed wasn’t clear enough. But they’ve been friends for a long time, and he never... _they_ never got to have their dance, _this_ kind of closeness. It’s strangely intimate, being helped _into_ her clothes by her...boyfriend?

“Juggie?” she turns, fixing him with all her attention.

“Yeah?”

She takes a moment, imagining what it might’ve been like if he’d come with her that night. If everyone else was here. If the lights were down. The song. With a little smirk, he lifts his suspenders onto his shoulders. As if reading her mind, he puts both hands on her waist. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

“I’d be honored.”

They sway, her forearms rubbing against the snappy material of his suspenders, socked feet cushioned and happy and moving together like when they were kids but also...decidedly not. There’s less space between them. Jughead’s thumb accidentally strokes the skin of her midsection, the cutout.

It’s _nice_. Really nice.

Cautious, she raises her gaze to a boy who looks like he adores her. And even though she _is_ the only girl in the room, she feels that sort of lightness like when they were in the diner. Like they’re the only people that matter for a few seconds in the world. There’s camaraderie. Comfort.

“Juggie...thank you.” She almost has to go on her toes without any heels just to brush his nose with hers.

Expression soft, Jughead's mouth seems to quiver with what he wants to say.

“Betty, I didn’t say it before, but...it doesn’t matter about your hair or the dress. And it’s not just because of the Blossom murder-”

“Thanks,” she monotones, leaning her head back so Jughead’s murder-solving brain can activate better. But he pulls her flush against him, staring with an intensity that makes her veins thrum.

“You’re beautiful. You’re amazing. Always.”

 _That_ , she decides, is _so_ much better than _nice._

**Author's Note:**

> In my head canon of this fic Veronica legit just checks out Thornhill and exchanges some catty banter with Cheryl at the party without getting lured into a closet to make some bad decisions. Archie parties a little hardier than he should but also manages not to be total jerk. Writing the dance scene with Betty and Archie was awkward and hard as hell because half the time she's just like, "What's my line again?" and Archie's like, "FOOTBALL. MUSIC. NOTHINGNESS. IT'S ALL I HAVE" in his head soooo yeah. Pretty please let me know if you had some favorite moments or your thoughts oooor what you think Betty would've made Juggie dance to in her room.
> 
> Also, I did NOT write smut and managed to keep a T rating. It took more self control than it should have but I did it. Woo! The title is double-edged. Their budding relationship is both nice and different and they as people are as well (even if their stereotypes would insist they are one instead of the other). Make sense? Ok let's all assume they made out after dancing and Jughead almost has a heart attack helping her back out of her dress and into normal clothes. Thanks to @pastypirate for reminding me that people don't talk in all-caps and sharing other good thoughts XD Please share your thoughts if you have the chance! It makes me feel warm and fuzzy and encourages more posting of thiiiings. How do you think Juggie would've reacted to her fancywear?


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